


Just a phone call away (but I wish you were here)

by Legs (InsanityRule)



Series: A Modicum of Humanity Makes Everything Harder [4]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene, Post canon, but stands alone fairly well, related to Plant Food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 19:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8909473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsanityRule/pseuds/Legs
Summary: On the anniversary of Ed's week with Isabella, he finds himself unable to be around Oswald for multiple reasons. Sometimes a wound never really heals.





	

Oswald wasn’t exactly  _ asleep _ when his phone began ringing, but he was lying in bed, and so much of him screams to just let it ring and ignore it until morning, but another, smaller part of him is full of hope, so he forces himself upright, wincing as his leg protests (today has been a decidedly Bad pain day). He carefully removes his phone from the bedside table and flips it open, muttering a quiet hello as he settles back against the headboard.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

_ You and me both _ , he thinks, adjusting the blankets so they’re pulled up around his waist. “What do you  _ want  _ Ed,” he grumbles, secretly through the roof that Ed called.

He’s been at the apartment for three days. Oswald tells himself he hasn’t been willing time to move quicker, but every wasted sneer gets him no closer to having Ed home, and Olga’s been giving him odd looks whenever she finds him staring down the old clock in the tea room.

“I found a photo album in the closet.” Oswald can hear, ever so faintly, the sound of thick, plastic covered pages being turned. “Do you remember the party we attended a few years ago? The masquerade?”

“That affair was  _ dreadful _ .” He’d been in pain that day too, it always seems to get worse when he’s stressed or unhappy, and he was most definitely  _ not  _ happy that night. But he’d agreed to make an appearance in good faith, and regretted it the moment they stepped inside the ballroom. “I believe the shellfish gave you food poisoning, and my leg spasmed partway through the first dance.”

“Right,” Ed chuckles, “as the saying goes, misery loves the end result of companionship and camaraderie.”

“Company, Ed. I know.” He forgives the abysmal riddle. It’s not like he couldn’t figure out the answer this time. “That album must be at least four years old.”

“Five, if we wrote down the year correctly.” He hums happily at whatever is on the next page.

“Not that this isn’t charming Ed, but it’s difficult to reminisce together if I don’t know what you’re looking at.”

Ed says nothing as he turns another page, somehow making such a simple action sound sad, and Oswald feels a pang in his chest. It’s not the damn page turning, it’s the week, the memories, the fact that this is  _ still  _ something that drives a wedge between them, long after the passionate anger has died down to a few sputtering embers.

He reaches over to his left, grabbing the corner of Ed’s pillow and clutching it to his chest. It’s been a few days since the sheets were laundered, and the pale gray fabric still holds a bit of Ed’s scent. Oswald buries his face in it and breathes deeply. Hair gel, and just a bit of cologne that lingers, but the main smell is Ed’s shampoo, something he’s been using for years now. Pine, or maybe he’d called it spruce or juniper, but either way it’s been such a constant that Oswald can’t smell it without thinking of Ed.

They need firmer pillows on the bed. The soft down has far too much give.

“Ed, if you’re not going to speak at least have the decency to dismiss me from this call properly. I refuse to be ignored over the phone.”

“I miss you.”

Oswald pulls his good leg in a bit closer, cursing his bad leg for refusing to comply when he wants to curl up and disappear. “Then why aren’t you home?”

Ed doesn’t answer, not that Oswald expected him to, but he could have at least  _ humored  _ him, maybe play yelled a little, a whiny “you killed my girlfriend” or something similar. But no, instead he feels the need to  _ call  _ Oswald and tell him  _ he  _ **_misses_ ** _ him _ ?

“I’ve tried, multiple times, but,” Ed groans, “Oswald please trust me when I say this is for the best. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re a little late then,” he bites back. “I don’t know how many years I have to tell you I’m  _ sorry _ .” For going behind his back, for not just  _ saying  _ what he needed to say so many times over. He would strangle his younger self into listening to reason if he could.

“No, I know, I don’t mean,” Ed huffs, “emotionally, yes I understand, I’m sorry too. We’ve never attempted to spend this week together. I suppose the uncertainty compounds on itself. I can’t stand the thought that I could wind up hurting you physically as well.”

“My leg hurts,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say anymore, and it’s not like it isn’t true.

“I’m assuming you’ve already tried your usual methods to alleviate the pain, so I won’t patronize you.”

“How thoughtful.” He shifts his leg, sucking in a quick breath when it twitches in protest, stilling in the hopes of avoiding a full spasm. So far he’s successful, but he heeds the warning and moves carefully until he’s lying on his good side, his own pillow between his legs and Ed’s pillow under his head.

“You don’t sound well.”

“Yes well as I said, I am in pain. If all you’re planning on doing is stating the obvious then I’m just going to return to my earlier plan of attempting to sleep. Good night.”

“Wait, Oswald, don’t go.”

“One moment.” He pulls the blankets back up to his shoulders and rests the phone on the side of his face. It’s not like Oswald actually planned on hanging up anyway. “I’m still here. What do you want?”

“I thought that, well of course we don’t have to if you’re going to sleep, but if it also eludes you, I thought we could talk?”

“Did you have a topic in mind?” He’s going to refuse if Ed wants to beat a dead horse, again, by wanting to talk about Isabella,  _ again _ .

“How your day was, perhaps, or whatever else tickles your fancy.” Oswald laughs quietly. “Why was that funny?”

“I just find the notion a bit humorous. You’re attempting to pillow talk with me from across town.”

“Well,” Ed huffs, and tries to explain himself, “perhaps I was just trying to be  _ thoughtful _ , Oswald. I missed you, and assumed that you may possibly feel the same, and-”

“Ed, darling,” Oswald sets the phone on the space where he would normally sleep and turns on speakerphone, “I think it’s a  _ fine  _ idea. Talk, please? Tell me about the photo album.”

If he closes his eyes he can ignore the tinny pitch in Ed’s tone caused by the poor quality of his speaker. Ed speaks in low tones, something about a party or event. If Oswald is honest he isn’t really listening to the words, just the sound of Ed as he speaks. It doesn’t carry the same comfortable weight over the phone; there’s no puff of breath by his ear as Ed whispers something secret to him or a soft rumble he can feel when he rests his ear against Ed’s chest. It just reminds him of the distance between them, and how much longer he has to wait until Ed comes home.

Ed’s in the middle of talking about some holiday Oswald doesn’t remember when Oswald blurts out, “I love you.”

“I love you as well.” Ed’s quiet for a moment. “Did you want me to stop talking?”

‘No,” he hides his face in Ed’s pillow for a moment, just long enough to sniffle once, “no, keep going. What were you saying? Something about New Years?”

“Easter. The banquet we had to attend for the city.”

“Right, of course. My mistake.” He uses a corner of the blanket to wipe his eyes. “Why don’t you start from the beginning. I think I missed a few minor details.”


End file.
